The Actions of One
by AwesomeFish
Summary: Lee Sin knew that just living the life of a monk wasn't enough to atone for what he had done. He had to do something more... "Short stories" stemming from Lee Sin's protest, starting with the not-so-blind-at-the-time monk himself. My first posted Fanfiction. Be gentle with me internet. Or not, I don't really mind.
1. The Blind Monk

**A/N: I do not own League of Legends or any of its anything. If I did though, that'd be totally sweet!**

* * *

'Are you ready?'

'I don't have to be.'

That was the only response Lee Sin could think of for his brethren. It was a truthful statement. He didn't feel completely ready for what he was about to do. But his discomfort was selfish to say the least. If anything, it was good that he wasn't ready. It would make his statement much more valuable. It would make his repentance much more of a challenge.

The Lotus Gardens were beautiful this time of year. Lee Sin brushed his hood away from his face to better take in the scene. The wide variety of flowers shone with colors that seemed to personify the laziness of the season. The trees however, would not be outdone by their smaller cousins. Their leaves were crisp and ripe, showing off autumn in yellows, reds and oranges.

He stopped as his two brothers went ahead, one carrying the lamp oil and bonsai tree, the other with the fire wood. He outstretched his hand, and watched as a leaf tumbled ungracefully from above, and fell into his palm. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist, listening to the leaf crunch under his grip.

_That is all it takes for something to break._

He then walked on to the center of the garden.

A dozen or more people had already gathered, curiously watching while his brothers finished laying out the wood. Everything seemed perfect. Set out just as they had discussed back at the monastery. The people of the crowd parted when they saw him, allowing him access to his stage. His gaze cast itself to his brothers, who sat under a tree, preparing for their meditation. The question then echoed in his mind,

_Are you ready?_

'No one is ever truly ready for what life has in store.' He whispered, 'They can pretend they are, but no one ever is.'

The group began to mumble as he removed his monk's robes, revealing his training regalia underneath. He looked at all the faces that surrounded him. Men, women, children, all of them had their eyes fixed upon him. The idea of children watching what he was going to do did not bode well with him, but he quickly shook the thought from his mind. It was time.

'Navori.' He said, 'How many of you know someone from Navori? I do...' Silence. The crowd spoke no more. 'Maybe I should rephrase the question? How many of you _used_ to know someone from the south of Ionia?' He waited for any sort of response. When nothing but silence hit his ears once more he continued. '_I do_. But it's likely I will never get to see them again. And do you know why? Greed. Greed and a thirst for power. For years now Noxus has stolen from our lands, separated families, and buried our traditions under the blood and bodies of our own kinsmen. Their suffering is needless. The presence of Noxus on our lands is needless! But…' He took a deep breath, determined to keep his emotions under control.

Word had spread quickly, and the crowd had doubled in size. He wondered if they had found out what he was going to do, or if they had just come to hear the words of a monk. They'd be sadly mistaken if they thought any 'pearls of wisdom' could be found in his words. He could hardly think straight, let alone talk in circles.

'But with the way things work today,' He began again, his voice newly composed, 'it will be years before anything will be done. If anything is ever done. I say we act now. Act now and the suffering of future generations will be stopped. The ever-growing wealth and power of Noxus will be halted... Act now, and the use of… human experimentation will never occur again.' As the last sentence escaped his lips, loud muttering erupted amongst the crowd. One woman even burst into tears, clutching at the man beside her.

He grabbed the lamp oil and poured it over his body, dumping the rest on the wood pile. This quickly regained the attention of those around him. The clear liquid stung his skin, eyes and throat, but he continued his speech, 'Again, I say we act now. Ionia has to do something about this oppression of her people.' Then, with a swift motion, he sat down cross-legged on the pile of wood.

'And I will not rest until something is done.' He pulled a tinderbox from the folds of his belt and struck a spark.

And then he was on fire.

It took a while for the fire to engulf his body fully. In that time he was able to gain enough focus to lose, or more correctly find, himself in meditation. Also in that time, he was able to see the shock his actions had caused. People dropped to their knees while others called out in anguish. Some ran away from his burning body. Others just stood and stared. He had no time to feel sympathy for them, as only one thing filled his mind.

Pain.

All the fibers of his being cried out, and no amount of healing or meditation could silence them. As minutes flew by like hours, he remained composed on the outside, while his mind screamed at him to leave this torture.

_Pain._

He would not listen. His suffering was not important. It was the suffering of those he was trying to emulate that was. He tried to picture the people living under the Noxian regime in his mind. He tried to imagine the faces of those he had hurt and killed in the past. Immediately he pictured the face of that little boy. He was the one who should've held the place in his mind that pain now occupied. But he was not as strong as he thought, and the pain remained.

The sound of sloshing water then hit his ears over the crackling of the fire. He opened his eyes to see two men and a woman running towards him with buckets, spilling water as they approached. As they were just about to douse the flame, he held up his hand. This immediately broke his meditation, and his body began to shake despite his wish to be still. The men and woman stood for a time, buckets at the ready. And his hand remained outstretched, fire beginning to slowly eat away at his hair.

_No, _He thought, as if he expected them to hear, _I will not allow it._

To his surprise, the men did seem to hear his words. After a minute or two, their arms became lax, and they turned and walked away. But the woman did not budge. She looked so determined to put an end to his plight, to put out the flame. But as she stared into his sweltering eyes, he saw her expression sadden.

She did not put out the flames. Instead, she turned her attention to the tree sitting next to him. His eyes followed her as she knelt beside the pot, and ever so carefully poured some water into it. She too, then turned and left.

He was quick to resume the partial relief of meditation. The sight of the bonsai tree made him uneasy. Leaves had already begun to fall from its well-groomed branches.

'_You have done well with this tree, Brother Lee.' _One of his older, and much wiser, brothers had said to him, _'The care and effort you have put into it is commendable. But you must remember this as you sit there ablaze. When the last leaf falls from this tree, so too will your life escape you. I hope you understand that. You will most likely die along with this tree.'_

'_I do, brother.'_

'_Very good. Then remember this as well. The actions of one may sunder the world, but the efforts of many may rebuild it.'_

'_I will.'_

So Lee Sin sat, deep in thought; all the while battling the pain that ripped his mind apart, and the fire that tried to do the same to his body. He didn't cry out. He didn't so much as whisper a word, not even when his brethren left him to fight his battle alone. There was only one thing that caught his attention after that, and that was the sound of armor-plated boots coming towards him.


	2. The Wuju Bladesman

Master Yi had known from the moment he saw the monks lay wood out in the garden that something serious was about to happen. But even so, he remained distant. That's not to say he wasn't paying attention, as he kept one hand on the hilt of his sword, on the off-chance they caused any trouble. He listened as one of them began to talk about a reality he knew all too well. One he had lived through, and was unable to change. He sighed. His annual pilgrimage to Ionia never seemed to bring him joy.

It always happened. No matter where he wandered, voices preaching about the wrongs and atrocities committed by Noxus would always follow him. And even though it was hard to hear, he always found himself compelled to listen. He figured it was healthy in a way, because it reminded him of what he lived for, besides his practice of Wuju. It reminded him of why he fought, and for whom.

This monk, however, was different from the rest. Though his body resonated with the usual luminescent colors of Ki, there were also some deeper, angrier colours he knew were powerful magic. He wondered why the monk would look such a way, seeing as magic wasn't one of the Shojin's practices. He then thought it might be about time he made a trip to Piltover. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been, let alone seen the inventor of his goggles for a check up.

As the monk's speech rolled on, Master Yi found himself smiling despite himself. The man spoke with great passion, and he knew that, like himself, he had been directly affected by the occupation. In the man's eyes he saw determination that he could also relate to. Like so many others, he wanted to see the south free. But his words were just words, and even if they brought hope to the hearts of the people, their effects were only temporary.

His smile was soon wiped off his face when the monk became brazen in his words,

_'Act now, and the use of human experimentation will never occur again.'_

It was the first time he had ever heard someone, who wasn't asking for death, refer to those events of the Noxian conquest. He cringed as his grip on his blade tightened. The sight of his village still haunted him, and it was one of the reasons he rarely returned to his homeland. People deformed by poisons unknown. The unlucky ones who lived and breathed in utter agony. Those were the ones he had to put down personally. While he crusaded on the front lines of battle, a monster feasted on his village. On his family. He clenched his teeth, trying to supress his rage.

'Damn Noxians…'

He'd have to have a word or two with the monk after his speech, and address his disrespect of the dead.

His train of thought was then broken by sudden screams and a bright light. For a split second, he thought he was back in the husk he used to call his home. But as reality came back into focus, he saw something that dispelled his anger entirely.

The monk sat on the pile of wood, engulfed in a tower of flame. His hand shot straight out as he tried to stop civilians from helping him. The sight had Master Yi mesmerized. Magic, Ki, willpower, flames and pain combined to create the strangest, yet most stunning array of colours he'd ever seen. There was no way the people of the crowd could appreciate the man's resolve like he did. It was then he decided he could no longer remain aloof, and walked over to the garden's center, sword slung over his shoulder.

He had to inwardly hit himself. To think he was actually going to scold the man, if not do more, for his 'lack of respect,' when in truth he'd said everything that needed to be said. He would have to meditate long and hard on all of this, and he could think of no better place to do it then here.

_He is doing exactly what needs to be done, _He thought, …_Albeit drastic._

Indeed, this monk _was_ different from any he'd seen before. To set ones self alight was unthinkable to him, and yet the man seemed to have done so with no regard for his own well-being. Once word got out about this, people would finally stand up and take notice. However, he knew the ways of the world. No Noxian would show a single care for what this man was doing. If something was to come of this, it would not be initiated by the dogs that were responsible for this mess.

Some of the crowd turned as they heard him approach. They were quick to move out of his way, some even bowing as he passed by. He payed them no mind, their signs of respect lost as he stared at the fire ahead.

And he continued to stare for a long while.

_How does one approach a man on fire, let alone a man who is sacrificing himself for his country?_

He had no idea.

Before he could get an idea, he saw the monk's two companions slowly stand and begin to leave.

'Aren't you going to stay and help your comrade?' He asked, his calm tone in direct contrast the situation.

'This is his rite, not ours. We have given him our support. If we were to do any more, his suffering would be worthless.' Master Yi nodded and they walked on,

'I understand.'

The Shojin Monks. Their order centered around purity and peace, and it was common for them to have cleansing rites. If this man's demonstration was also one of purification, he couldn't possibly fathom what he had done to justify making himself a martyr.

He took a deep breath, and decided to just walk up to the man, and ask him what he needed to ask.

So he stood before the monk. He felt the heat bounce off the exposed skin of his face, and had to hold his beard to make sure it didn't catch alight. He was so deep in meditation, that he didn't, or couldn't, acknowledge his presence.

'Monk, I do not know your name. I don't think I have to. ' He waited. The monk said nothing.

'I am Master Yi.' He continued after a time, 'I knew many people from Navori, Galrin and Shon-Xan... What you are doing here today. It means a great deal to me, as it should to everyone. I would be honored if I could sit here and meditate alongside you. If you would let me.'

Again he waited. Minute after minute ticked by, and the monk didn't move an inch. Figuring he should've known better than to disturb him, he decided to leave. He had spent too much time in town anyway. Roaming the landscape was where he belonged, not in the streets and gardens. He turned to walk away, but his goggles caught the slightest twitch of the man's muscles.

The monk looked up at him, one bloodshot eye half-opened. He then closed it again and nodded, returning to his previous posture. Then Master Yi, without so much as a word himself, sat across from the monk and started his own meditation.

It would become a routine for him from then on. He even delayed his trip back to the mainland to stay by his side. Every few days, instead of finding a secluded spot in the wilderness, he came to the Lotus Gardens. The monk still sat there, unnamed and unchanged. Even though the garden was full of activity and onlookers, Master Yi found more peace and spirituality there than he ever could've out in the wild. And sometimes he would bring news to the man about how his actions were affecting the world. He would regard his gesture with the same silence that he regarded everything.

He wanted to keep the man informed to the highest degree possible, but there was one thing he'd heard that he wasn't quite comfortable telling him about. In hearing the tidbit, he had found himself getting much more emotional than he'd care to admit. The news was of a certain Noxian showboat, and how he had too much imagination for his own good.


	3. The Glorious Executioner

'Draven!' The crowd in the arena clapped and stomped their feet in unison as they waited,

'Draven!'

This was his favorite part of the show. The air pulsing with the anticipation of the crowd. The way his name echoed through the backstage halls. It always got his adrenalin pumping like nothing else could. Well, maybe war was an adrenalin shot and a half, but war didn't give him the fame that he deserved.

Draven soaked in the crowd as he got ready to perform. He could tell the size of his audience just by the sound of their cheering. A full house. It was getting harder to fill the seats with the increasing popularity of the League of Legends, and it bothered him that people would rather watch their crystal screens than his executions. But there was one thing nobody could deny. The people sitting in the arena wanted him, and only him. And he'd give them a perfect show, like he always did.

He looked at his reflection in a basin of water.

'Draven, you're lookin' very slick today.' He said, adjusting his circlet and tightened his ponytail, 'Some might say you're dressed to kill.' He laughed and grabbed his prized axes from beside the table. 'Dressed to kill... Heh, that's terrible. Lucky it ain't my job to think of jokes.'

He knew that today's show was going to be extra special, because, as usual, he had a brilliant plan. He was going to bring some world news to the people. And he was going to do it the only way he knew how; with axes to the backs of heads. But there was one more thing he needed for his plan, and he found it in the form of a large vial of oil sitting next to the basin. He strapped it to one of his belts and then, with his head held high and axes spinning, ran down the long hall and burst through the door to the arena.

The crowd erupted when they saw him. Their cheering resonated about the arena like beautiful music. So to this music he performed some acrobatics, all the while keeping his axes spinning. Back flips, front flips, anything to get the crowd riled up even more. On his last tremendous flip, he threw his axes downwards. They landed perfectly straight in the dirt, and he was able to plant his feet between their spikes.

'Draaaayven!' He yelled with arms out wide. He gave the crowd a minute to get accustomed to his presence. When they had settled, he spoke again, 'Are you all ready to see the Glorious Executioner wield a weapon like no one else can?' The crowd shouted their answer,

'Yes!'

'Are you all ready to see Draven boggle your tiny minds?'

'Yes!'

'Then you're in for a treat. 'Cus I'm gonna perform a stunt that no one's ever tried before.' He got down from his axes and pulled them from the dirt. The crowd swelled, hanging off every word he said. And they wouldn't be disappointed, for he still had more to say.

'Have you been watchin' the news lately? Have you heard about them stupid Ionians? I-' The crowd burst into loud booing at the mention of the pitiful island nation. 'They just can't seem to get it through their tiny heads, can they? Always whinin' and complainin' about the fair conquest of land. One of them's even like, "Boo hoo, I can't take Noxus' complete and utter superiority, so I'm gonna set myself on fire! Wah wah. Everyone look at me."' The crowd laughed when he put his fists to his face, feigning sadness.

'So, this monk sets himself on fire… and then Draven got to thinkin'. And Draven's thinkin' turned into the most daring feat you will ever witness. Bring out the prisoners!' The crowd hissed as two men were pushed before him by the jailors. They were both short and scrawny, definitely not the breed of prisoner he was accustomed to. It seemed that his Ionian correspondent had come through on his promise after all.

'The Glorious Executioner is gettin' all cultural today,' He said as he loomed over the men, 'because these two scumbags were imported directly from Noxus prisons in Ionia. Give 'em a warm Noxian welcome!' The two men cringed when the crowd's utter hatred of their existence was made clear. He began to spin his axes, addressing the criminals in a threatening mumble, 'You see that openin' over there? _All_ the way over there? If you can escape my axes, you'll be free. Now run. Run for your puny, insignificant lives.' Without a second thought, the two men bolted, fear plastered on their faces.

He waited, letting the men run a fair distance. This seemed to cause some confusion in the crowd. Usually he'd give chase, but not this time. He stopped his axes spinning for just a second as he smothered them with the thick, black liquid. When they were sufficiently covered, he spun them once more and violently crashed them together over his head, laughing as he did. Sparks flew, followed by a bright flash.

The crowd seemed to gasp simultaneously at the spectacle, before continuing their cheering. He lined up his shots. Just as he was about to throw his axes however, he had another brilliant idea. He turned around and tuned out the crowd the best he could. Picturing the criminals in his mind, he flung his axes over his shoulders, listening as they cut the air.

_One_

The people in the stands fell almost silent, watching the axes as they flew.

_Two_

The panting and scuttling of the men captured their desperation perfectly.

_Three_

The grin on his face grew even more sinister.

_Four..._

The crowd went wild, their seats no longer able to contain them. This was his cue to turn around. What he saw was what he expected. Two perfect shots. His hands instinctively shot up to catch the axes, but then he remembered. He had recalibrated them the night before to make sure they didn't return. That way there'd be time for the fire to spread.

He strolled over to the bodies. With the first prisoner he had aimed for the head, a shot he had done so many times that there was no possible way he could miss. But with the second he had deliberately aimed lower, striking him in the back. His cries echoed throughout the arena, causing only more laughter from the crowd. As the fire danced across his rags, Draven pulled the axe from his back,

'Look at the little Ionian! No wonder they need help from Noxus just to get by. It seems their not all as fire resistant as that monk guy.' He stooped low to the ground and muttered in the dying man's ear, 'Tough luck.'

'Rot in the Void Noxian...' He spluttered in response.

'That ain't very Ionian of you.' He replied as he strode back to the middle of the arena, juggling the still flaming axes.

'I'm just gettin' started folks. Want more?'

'Yeah!'

'Okay then! Bring out some more prisoners!'

Draven continued his show, executing many prisoners in the same fashion. Performing with his flaming axes wasn't as hard as he imagined. He actually found the experience exhilarating, and knew he'd be trying it again at another show. He chased prisoners from one side of the arena to the other, his morbid smile enhanced by the writhing, flaming criminals he left alive.

After the last body was dragged from his stage, Draven found himself exhausted for the first time in a long while. He never realized how much energy the ricocheting of his axes saved. Quite frankly, all the running about to retrieve them cramped his style. He decided the first thing he was going to do when he got home was to give them a good re-tuneing. Despite this exhaustion, he finished the show in the way he always did, spinning his axes and performing more of his daring acrobatic stunts. The crowd took this as the cue it was, and stood in their seats, applauding and asking for more.

He wasn't about to oblige. Leaving them wanting more was what made them come back next week.

'Draven's makin' an exit.' He said, finally extinguishing his axes in the dirt, 'And just remember.' The crowd echoed his catchphrase as he said it. 'Draven does it all...'

'With style!' He laughed,

'With style…'

He looked over the crowd once more before he left. He wondered if his brother was among them. It's not like he'd told him fifty times to come. Forty-nine times maybe, but certainly not fifty. Unlike the last show, or the show before that, _this_ would be the one Darius liked; he could taste it. He'd done no wrong.

When he thought this he chuckled. Here he was implying he could be less than spectacular.


	4. The Hand of Noxus

**A/N: Although this is called _The Hand of Noxus_, it's actually _The Glorious Executioner Part 2 _in a terrible disguise... Goddamn it Draven. **

* * *

The stench of burnt corpses hung heavy in the air. Standing in the arena's lobby, Darius took a deep breath and soaked it in. Draven had told him to expect something extraordinary; words that didn't carry much weight anymore. He was always asking him to come to his shows, and it was rare that he actually gave in to his pestering. If he wasn't his little brother, he would've lopped his whiny head clean off his shoulders long ago. But he was his brother, and it was his nonstop, pigheaded blathering that made him who he was. The only man he genuinely trusted on the battlefield.

And, in all honesty, his brother had done something he'd never seen before. Creative, yes. Extraordinary, not so much.

He watched the people from the stands circle him with a wide girth. They didn't know his intentions. Just how he liked it. He found that avoidance was the main way people dealt with his presence, especially after his most recent public beheading of another half-witted government official. Which reminded him, he would have to pay Commander Swain a visit after he was done entertaining his brother, and find out who was next on his list. If there_ was_ anyone next. The announcement of Swain's impending promotion to High Command General didn't leave much room for them to move. He wasn't about to go cutting the heads off the whole chain of command. Any further advancement would require a lot more subtlety.

_Subtlety… _His lip curled slightly.

He wasn't good at being subtle, a trait he shared with his brother. It was Swain's job to handle the political intrigue. He was the brawn, and he was okay with that. If he could make sure Noxus had a ruler that was free of cowardice and weakness, then he had no complaints. Rapid movement then piqued his interest.

As if arriving on cue, Draven appeared from the downstairs area as the bulk of his audience stood in the lobby. Immediately people flocked around him, buying for his attention. He let out a bellowing laugh before saying,

'Please. There's enough Draven to go 'round!' Darius wasn't the patient type. He tapped his foot, considering leaving as he watched his brother pander to his fans. Knowing Draven, he'd be occupied for hours. To his surprise, however, he didn't have to wait long at all.

'Brother!' Draven pushed by his fans and marched up to him with giant steps, to which he could only roll his eyes. People tried to follow, but Draven was quick in dismissing them, 'Beat it! I'm done for today. Come back next week.' With that, he turned back towards him, broad smile plastered on his face. 'So the mighty Darius actually came to see his younger, and much more attractive, brother perform. What did you think? Did Draven wow you with his cultural sensitivity and showmanship?'

'Draven's show was adequate.' He replied, 'And I think that Draven should stop talking in the third person.' His brother let out a shallow, anxious laugh,

'Draven... thinks his big brother is making fun of him. You gotta have more to say than just 'adequate'. I did things no one else in Valoran could do. I made the men of the crowd jealous, and their women tremble with delight. You must've been… impressed. Weren't you?'

'Your show was adequate.' Draven's smile disappeared.

Darius suppressed a laugh. Maybe the show was a lot more than adequate, but he wasn't about to tell him that. His brother was silent for a moment. Then he felt a friendly slap to his shoulder plate, chipper attitude littering the man's face once more,

'Here's an idea. You and me should go for a drink. The Blood Brothers should reminisce on old times. When was the last time we had fun together?'

He shook his head.

'I'm busy.'

'Doin' what?'

'Ionia has the High Command occupied. If Commander Swain is busy, that means I'm busy. Besides, didn't we spar together not long ago?'

'That's not what I asked and you know it. You need to let loose once in a while! Have a little fun in your life. Or…' His brother's smile gained a devious edge, 'Are you afraid your little brother can hold his drink better than you?' He eyed the man with suspicion,

'Is that a challenge?'

'You know it is.' He knew he had much better things to do with his time, but nobody questioned his abilities. Especially his _little _brother.

'We'll see about that.' Draven again slapped his shoulder, laugh echoing about the lobby,

'That's the spirit! Your ass isn't as tight as I thought it was.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'It means you're about to see the true might of Draven.'

The two pushed through the dawdling audience members and made their way to the closest bar. As they walked, he noticed something that he knew would send Draven wild,

'Brother.'

'Yeah?'

'Your moustache seems a bit lopsided.' He grasped at his face,

'What? Oh man!' He whipped one of his axes from his back, looking at himself in the reflective surface, 'That stupid fire! If those damn Ionians-'

'-You have nothing to blame but your own lack of skill.' He replied, 'You need to train more.' The younger man didn't respond, choosing instead to grumble about how long it took him to get his moustache up to 'Draven Standards.'

He knew he was in for a long night.

* * *

'Ya know.' Draven slurred, 'Sometimes I wonder… why…' Darius ignored him, finishing off his fourth tankard. Draven had drunk the same, and already he was giggling like a little girl. 'Hey. I'm talkin' to you brother.' He continued to say nothing, watching Draven finish what was left in his mug and slam it on the bar. 'The Glorious Draven wants another drink!' The barkeep shot a nervous glance towards them,

'Should he have-' Darius glared at him, stopping him dead in his tracks.

'Give him as much as he wants. He's _my_ brother after all.' The man eyes widened, nodding his head with urgent affirmation.

When the barkeep took his brother's mug, he looked over to the crystal screen situated on the corner of the bar. A League match was coming to a close.

'And there you have it.' The announcer said, 'We have a victory for the blue team. Congratulations to the summoners and their champions. I must say, that Demacian summoner made Blitzcrank move with such grace.'

'I don't think you can put "Blitzcrank" and "Grace" in the same sentence,' The other replied, 'but yes, I'd have to agree with you. The young man who summoned Taric also did an excellent job. He'll be one to watch, but I digress. As we know, that was just a show match, but the real deal could be happening soon.'

'Yes it could. That makes a nice segway to our news segment.' Images of the protesting monk that had caused so much trouble flashed onto the screen, 'As you can see, the Shojin monk still sits in protest of Noxian occupation in Ionia. And after a good few weeks, Ionia is finally addressing the issue. Diplomats are partitioning for the League of Legends to speed up proceedings, and allow them to fight for their lands on the Fields of Justice. However, it's still eight years before-'

Draven's axe then flew across the room, hitting the screen. Shards of the device shot in all directions, some even flying with such force that they stuck fast in the walls. The patrons of the bar stood shocked, but out of fear or respect, did nothing as his brother downed another mug.

'Bro… I was talkin' to you. Listen to me.' Darius sighed,

'Okay then, what do you want to say?'

'Why?'

'Why what?'

'Why… are you… sooo great? Tell me how ya do it? What's ya secret?' He put a hand to his face.

_Here we go... again._

He couldn't even count the amount of times Draven had asked him similar questions, drunk or sober. It probably didn't help that he provoked him, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to Draven's ego.

'You've got the fortitude of a Demacian, brother.' He said, 'Is this all it takes to get you drunk?'

'I'm not drunk! I'm Draven! I'm glorious. But apparently…' He stumbled to his feet, 'Apparently I'm not as glorious as my big... waaar hero brother. I was in the war too y'know…' He watched the man lurch across the room, seeming to bump into as many people as he could. He positioned himself in front of a dart board, retrieving some of its darts as he continued,

'Draven. The one stop shop for entertainment.' He threw a dart. Bullseye. 'He throws axes… sometimes blindfolded… sometimes with one hand tied behind his back, and still kills all the sons-a-bitches he comes across.' Another dart left his hand. Bullseye. Darius put some gold on the counter and stood.

'You're making a fool of yourself. I've got better things to do than listen to you ramble-'

'-Shut your mouth brother. I'm saying shit, and you better listen. Draaaayven does everything with style! But when...'

'Draven-'

'-Listen to me!' He threw the last dart at the board, a third bullseye. He then focused his attention on his axe, running a thumb up its blade while he spoke, 'But when his brother does one little thing. Chops off one little head. He's all over the news! He's… He's… the attention of everyone's eyes, or whatever. I don't fuckin' know… I don't fuckin' know!' He let out a yell and lobbed his other axe. Bullseye… If you could call a dart board split in two a bullseye. He took a few deep breaths before continuing,

'… You know what I'm gonna do? You know how I'm gonna... How I'm gonna beat you?'

'Spit it out. You're wasting my time.'

'I'm gonna join the League of Legends! I'm gonna do it, and there's nothing you can do about it.'

_Well this is something new._

He smirked, before pushing his amusement to the back of his mind. Draven in the League of Legends? He'd be right at home there, that's for sure. But he couldn't imagine any summoner being able to invade his selfdom to summon him. Besides, Draven only gave up control of his body to one thing. And apparently that was the drink.

'Go ahead.' He replied, even toned, 'The League doesn't interest me.' His brother's smile grew broad once more,

'Yeah… Yeah! Watch me do it! Watch me be better than you at everything! I…' He watched his brother's attention suddenly shift, 'Hey lady, over there. You are very, very pretty… '

'I'm a man, idiot.'

'Well, then you're a pretty… ugly man!' As the man seethed at Draven's horrid joke, Darius looked over to the angry, yet very overwhelmed barkeep. The man gave no intention of making sure he'd paid enough for his drink, so he walked out the door, leaving his brother to his drunken ravings. He wasn't about to carry him out of the joint. If Draven was going to get in trouble, he'd have to sort it out himself. That had always been their way.

He finally let himself smile while he walked down the street. It never took much for him to get under his brother's skin. Heck, sometimes his mere presence was enough to kick his jealousy in gear. Though he'd never admit it, Draven did a lot of things better than he did. Playing darts was another thing he'd have to add to the list.

He shook his head as a sudden dizziness washed over him. Maybe he wasn't as good at holding his drink as he thought. Unlike Draven, he knew when to quit. Tactically of course. Visiting Swain would now have to wait until tomorrow. The man would probably smell the drink on him from a mile away.

So to the Noxian barracks he walked, but not before he caught sight of another crystal screen. On it he saw a combination of colors that filled him with hate. They reminded him of the utter spinelessness he was trying to stamp out of his own fine City-State. _Gold and blue._ Through the anger, and the growing haze of his mind, he was able to make out some of what the men on the screen were saying.

'We have yet to get a hold of King Jarvan, or any of the Demacian Crown, for their comments on the issues in Ionia. And with Chancellor Malek Hawkmoon's statement now public, they'll really be under some pressure to speak.'

'That's right. One of our correspondents will be seeing if he can gain an audience with the king tomorrow. It'll be interesting to hear what he has to say...'


	5. The Grandmaster of Rabble Rousing (?)

_Meanwhile, at another bar in Noxus._

* * *

'Did you hear?' Jax asked, 'Some Shojin Monk set himself on fire.' He pushed the metric tonne of glass mugs aside, most hitting the floor as they revealed the face of his favorite drinking buddy.

'The Shojo wha..?' Gragas replied in his unique drunken drawl. Jax shrugged,

'I dunno.' His friend grabbed an empty glass in his hand,

'The cares I give... are equal to the ale in this mug.'

'Do we need more drinks then?' The giant man's eyes lit up,

'Not sure it'll make me care, but hit me up bartender!'

They watched the man behind bar faint at the suggestion, face white like a bed sheet. A loud crunch then made both their heads turn to the door. Gragas laughed,

'Maybe he didn't like our redecorating?' They watched the last of the bar's walls cave in, falling in what seemed like slow motion. When the dust settled, the faces of stunned onlookers were made clear.

Jax jumped over the bar to pour their mugs anew. He found it hard to gain his footing on the wood splinters and rubble that covered the floor, but that was a small price to pay for a good night. When he had filled them to the brim, he pushed one of the groaning patrons off the bar so he could slide a mug the Rabble Rouser's way.

'Maybe.'

* * *

**A/N: Drinking is bad kiddies! I don't even know what I'm doing anymore... It's late at night, and... yeah.  
That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!  
Serious things will come at some point in time between now and the end of the universe, I assure you.  
**


	6. The Seneschal of Demacia

**A/N: Has the universe ended yet? No? Good...  
School happened and my teachers didn't appreciate me writing fanfiction in my free study periods**. **Year 12 is hard :(  
****Someone teach me how to draw/animate, because this seemed better in my head then it does in words.**

* * *

'What am I to say to these prying journalists?' King Jarvan stared out his bedroom window, not even looking at Xin Zhao when he responded,

'What do you wish to say?' The King had always been like this, even when he was a boy. Time and time again Xin Zhao would find him deep in thought, whether he was an eighteen year old thinking of a way to sneak out of the castle, or a forty year old trying to handle the affairs of a kingdom. The King turned to reply,

'That's why I'm asking you. I've been trying to think of the right words all day. And they won't stop pestering me until I say something.'

'Well... I suppose you don't need to think of the right words. Not right now at least.'

'What?'

'What you want to say, and what you will say are two different things. But that's just how I see it.'

'You are right… I suppose what I really want to say is that these Noxian bastards should be wiped off the face of Valoran, but I don't think that would go over well with the council… What would you say?'

'I don't wish to put words in your mouth Sire.' The King took a step closer,

'Do not worry. Your years of wisdom are valuable to me. I am sure my father asked for your help on such things as well.' He smiled and flicked his long weave of hair over his shoulder.

'He was more than happy to dive into the public eye and call the Noxians to his doorstep, no matter what anyone said. He had the courage of one hundred men, and made anyone who served under him feel the same.'

A deep, booming laugh escaped the King,

'Yes, Father was indeed like that, bless his soul.' A respectful silence followed for the previous king. He owed so much to Jarvan II that it was the least he could do to be silent at his memory.

'You did not answer my question though.' The King said abruptly, shattering the silence.

Xin Zhao had to think for a moment. He wasn't good at giving insightful speeches. It was usually the point of his spear that did his talking, which wasn't really appropriate at political get-togethers. In fact, most of the time he remained silent, _especially_ if the king had company. He had probably spent more time in his life saying nothing than actually conversing.

Then it suddenly hit him. He knew what to tell the King.

'Well If I were you, I wouldn't say anything.'

'Nothing?'

'Yes. We are supportive of Ionia, correct?'

'Anyone who opposes Noxus is our ally.'

'Then we must let them sort this out on their own. Our involvement may do more harm then good.' Puzzlement met Xin Zhao's eyes,

'Can you elaborate?'

'Noxus would do anything to spite us, regardless of their best interests. If The Crown were to come out and support Ionia too eagerly, any negotiations the Ionians are having with them may fall through.'

'I could see Darkwill doing that just to get under my skin.' The King's hatred bubbled at just the mention of the Grand General. He too, had no nice thoughts of the man. Pushing that out of his mind, he continued his train of thought,

'We are an automatic target for the Noxians. So if any of the City-States should remain quiet, it should be us.' The King adjusted his crown and wiped his forehead,

'I don't have time to deal with this anyway. I may just develop a migraine.'

'I'm sorry. I will only say one more thing. There is an appeal to the League being made about all this, as you are aware. I say we wait until that goes through. Once we know either way, then we can make a definite comment. Until then, if anyone asks for a statement-'

'-We politely decline, saying that The Crown has no opinion on the matter at this time, but that our sympathies go out to the Shojin monk and his suffering. That is what I will say. Thank you Seneschal.' Xin Zhao bowed deeply, hair tumbling back over his shoulder,

'It is my duty, Sire.' King Jarvan turned back to the window,

'Find my son. Tell him what he needs to say. I have a feeling that his opinion may be too strong for his own good.'

'Yes Sire.' The King's hand moved to his heart,

'Demacia: Now and Forever.' He echoed the king's motion,

'Demacia: Now and Forever.'

'You may take your leave.'

'Thank you My King.' As he placed a hand on the door to shut it, the King spoke once more,

'Make sure he knows that this is an order, not a suggestion. I am telling him to do this as his King, not as his father.' He bowed again, not that the man could see it,

'By your command.' He then set off on the great task to find the Prince in the giant palace.

His steps echoed throughout the long marble halls of the estate, being caught in the tall arched roof and resounding there for even longer. To this day, he was still overwhelmed by the grand halls and rooms. It was strange. He had lived there for longer than most, if not all, the people who resided in the palace, and yet he still felt an aversion to the place. Maybe it was due to his want for the battlefield. He had always felt most at home when opposition was in front of him. To outwit and out skill an enemy was where his mind truly thrived. Or maybe it was due to the sliver of Noxian that rested in his soul. The part of him that craved the dark, closed spaces of the Noxian underground. He was quite sure it had something to do with the former, but he would not deny that the latter desire did indeed exist.

He explored dining rooms, kitchens, offices and even the treasury. Prince Jarvan was nowhere to be found. He never seemed to be in one place, the heir to the Demacian throne. Always wandering about, with a look of boredom on his face. He used to be a lively child and, like his grandfather before him, was always willing to charge headlong into battle. But then his brashness almost cost him his life, and he changed.

'Prince Jarvan.' He called, hoping that he was in earshot, 'Are you here?'

'Think I saw him in the garden.' A servant sweeping the floors replied. 'He didn't seem too happy. Quite angry in fact.'

'Thank-you.' He walked on, resurfacing his analysis of the youngest Jarvan.

Yes, his near execution changed him. His stare became distant after that. He only looked through you, and not at you. He gazed at something no one else could see, but he himself couldn't look away from. It was probably this thing that caused him to jump up and leave for two years of 'redemption', causing no end of worry and stress for everyone in the City-State.

The Prince also regarded his personage with a strange disdain. It had always been said that every Lightshield was born with a deep seeded hate of Noxians in his blood_._ He chuckled. Again, the covert scowls that the man directed at him were probably due to the fact that he was the one who had to say no when the child prince wished to disobey his father, and not his heritage.

All the same, he was an interesting man, true and strong in his convictions. And young. But unlike most people his age, Jarvan carried himself like a man who had seen it all already. Maybe if he'd been like Prince Jarvan in his own youth, he wouldn't have got himself into the bloody, horrible mess that was Noxian entertainment. His expression softened. His teen years seemed so long ago now. To think that back then he could fight two hundred and fifty men at once and come out alive. Age was catching up to him, even if he didn't show it. Maybe he could only best one hundred men now, two hundred if he tried hard enough.

He smiled at his inner ramblings when the man he was looking for finally came into view. Despite the season, there was not a single fallen leaf in sight. The gardeners were definitely diligent in their duties. He approached the man as leaned idly on his giant lance with his back turned.

'My Prince.' Prince Jarvan jumped slightly, like he was snapping out of a daze.

'Oh, Seneschal.' He said, turning to face him, 'I'm… busy at the moment. '

'I have a message of great importance. It's from the King.'

'What does my father want?' His voice betrayed the slightest annoyance.

'It is about the issues in Ionia-'

'-Don't you get me started on this ridiculous…' His voice trailed off, finding its composure once more. '…Just tell me what he wants of me and be gone.' Xin Zhao was articulate, making sure to deliver the King's words in their entirety,

'If you are approached by anyone asking questions about Ionia, do not comment. Give your sympathies to the monk, but nothing more. The issue is sensitive, and we don't want to provoke any drastic reactions.' The Prince stared at him with such a look of disbelief that Xin Zhao thought he must've said something wrong.

'You... cannot be serious.' He replied, sounding almost breathless.

'...It's the King's will. What… What's troubling you, my Prince?' The Prince then took a sudden step forward, his eyes seemingly ablaze. It had been a long time since he'd seen such strong emotion on the man's face.

'This cannot be my father's will. He would not sit idly by as the Noxians spit lies! We need to speak out. We need to show all the City-States that Demacia means business.' It was only then that Xin Zhao noticed the parchment in Jarvan's hand. 'Have you heard the news?'

'What news?'

He directly quoted the page,

_"Those who lose always try to gain sympathy when violence fails them. Ionia claims to be helpless victims; what, then, of the countless Noxian and Zaunite soldiers buried beneath Ionian soil? Ionia is trying to manipulate the emotions of the League."_

'They feed us lies,' He continued, scrunching up the paper, 'and we are not going to do anything about it? Ridiculous!' Xin Zhao put a hand on the man's gold plated shoulder,

'Please my Prince, calm yourself.' Jarvan swatted his touch away.

'Don't you tell me to be calm. I have every right to be angry. I have to sit here in this palace and do nothing while people suffer...' The angered man's face hung just an inch away from his own, 'I have to sit here while people like you get to fight in the League of Legends and I do not.' The Prince's eyes bore holes into his, 'And who are you Xin Zhao? You are a servant and I am a Prince. This is not the way things should be.'

'I-'

'-You have nothing more to say to me _Seneschal_.' He then stormed past, his steps bursting with rage.

'Where are you going?' He stopped for the briefest moment in his strides,

'I am going to make a statement on behalf of the Crown.' Xin Zhao felt the blood drain from his face,

'You can't. It's the King's order-'

'-I have already told you. I do not care.'

This was bad. He followed in the man's shadow, trying to think of a way to convince him to stop. But he was good with spears, not words. Without realizing it, the Prince was putting the lives of others in danger. The King would have his head for this.

The Prince stormed towards the throne room, the last place Xin Zhao wanted him to go. Through the worries in his mind, a familiar voice made itself apparent,

'Jarvan, what wrong?'

'I haven't the time Garen. I've got something I need to do.'

'What?'

He continued past the man, set in his objective. Xin Zhao found his arm getting caught by the captain's large hand when he tried to pass by, 'Xin Zhao, what's going on?'

There was no way he could begin to explain. He felt torn. He knew there was no reason to feel such a way, but with his head whipping between the two men in the hallway, and his mind in a unreasonable panic, there was no way he couldn't feel flustered.

Garen let out muffled grunts as Xin Zhao's long hair hit his chest again and again. Jarvan had now gone out of sight, but he most certainly wasn't out of mind. Suddenly, the grip on his arm loosened, and Xin Zhao had to quickly stabilise himself.

'… This is unlike you Seneschal. What's wrong?'

'I… I'm sorry Captain.' He stuttered in response, bowing as quickly as he could, 'I must go.' He ran up the hall, leaving Garen more confused than ever.

The sight that met his eyes when he entered the throne room was enough to make him faint. The room was full of people; civilians, soldiers and journalists alike. And they were all crowding around the Prince, quills in hand.

'Prince Jarvan,' One of them called out, 'Have you heard Noxus' statement about their position in Ionia? Do you have any comments?'

'I have a comment alright.' He raised his voice, catching the attention of all those around. 'People of Demacia! I have something I wish to say. Let me pass.' The people did as they were told and took a step backwards. Jarvan ascended the marble steps of the throne room, standing in front of the grand seat he would one day occupy.

Xin Zhao was quick to catch up to him, bowing and standing behind the man. Not by choice but out of necessity. He was to forever serve the Lightshield dynasty and save them from danger, and if that meant taking the blame for Prince Jarvan's upcoming speech, then so be it. Still, he wanted to speak out, but the decades of training and his loyalty forced his mouth shut.

'Who among us believes these Noxian lies?' The Prince began when the crowd settled, 'Who among us doesn't know the truth? I'm tired of wading through the political double-talk.'

_The king is going to be livid… My Prince, you're going to kill your father with a headache_. But still, he remained silent.

'Noxus invaded Ionia as no more than thieves or bandits. They continue to operate as such, remaining neatly between the lines of the edicts of the League of Legends.' He began to pace, the people watching him with respect, 'Those who remain silent do so out of fear.'

Xin Zhao would've fallen over right there if it weren't for his resolve,

_Please Prince Jarvan, you don't understand The King is no coward..._ He still couldn't get his lips around any words.

'I am not afraid. I will oppose villainy wherever I find it, without compromise.' He marched down the steps of the throne room, lance over his shoulder, 'If the League is unwilling to remove the Noxian infestation, then I will visit Ionia myself.' With that he would've made his grand exit, and Xin Zhao would've been left to sweat and pick up the pieces. But as a booming voice sounded in the hall, he knew that no such thing would happen.

'My son.' The King's voice was deathly stern, echoing through the long marble room with explosive force. 'Come with me. We need to have a word.' The Prince of Demacia then left with his father, his expression of anger not wavering in the slightest. Xin Zhao could only begin to shoo people from the palace as he wondered what the king may have in store for him after he was done with his son. Hopefully a League match would whisk him away before that time came. Or so he prayed.

'Seneschal, I require your presences as well.'

It seemed his prayers had fallen on deaf ears.


	7. The Exemplar of Demacia

**A/N: I've noticed a couple of things on this FanFic expedition:**

**1. I seem to write in pairs.  
2. My word count per chapter is gradually increasing.**

**Whether this is a good or a bad thing is yet to be seen.**

* * *

_How…_

Prince Jarvan's thoughts were so spiteful that he almost felt he was saying them aloud,

_How can he have the gall to treat me like this? _

He may have been angry, but he was still a Demacian. He re-articulated his opinions to something that was barely becoming of him,

'Father, I do not appreciate being ushered like a child.'

The King was silent, continuing up the halls in such a composed way that it mocked the entire political state of the world, 'I am entitled to my own opinion. And the people are entitled to hear it.' Again, the only sound that met his ears was his own boots on the marble floor. He wasn't about to be ignored. He deserved so much better.

He grasped at his father's arm, stopping the King in his tracks, 'Is this the world that we live in? A world in which Demacia does _nothing _to help those who need it most?'

'Be silent.' He snapped, 'And take your hands off me. We are going to discuss this. Just not here.' Jarvan slowly released his grip and the man walked ahead. But he was seething. There was no way he couldn't be. The fact that the Noxians had taken advantage of the League in the first place was enough to make him livid.

_And now..._

The door to his father's room slid shut behind them. He watched as the man removed his crown and wiped his forehead, his brow knotted up so tightly that he was surprised he could even sweat at all.

'… There is a man sitting in Ionia ablaze as we speak, Father.' Jarvan said, composure finding him for just a moment, 'And we're going to sit here and let him burn alive? What type of people would we be if we let such a thing happen? What of the Ionians he sits there and burns for? Here I am, a proud victim of royal circumstance, and I'm expected to do nothing with the powers I possess?'

'If you are under the delusions that I do not care, _my son, _then you would be sadly mistaken. I do care. Immensely. At the moment however, I am more concerned about being undermined by a member of my Court.'

The words that escaped his father were enough to spark the rage in him anew. He took a deep breath to blast at the man, but both their attentions were taken by the creaking of the door.

'May I enter?' The Seneschal of Demacia peeped.

'He does not need to be-' His father wasn't about to let him finish his thought,

'- Enter Xin Zhao.' The servant was as timid as Jarvan had ever seen him. His gaze was uncertain, eyeing his father with a question of a glance. Despite this, he stood tall and strong, an action that probably came naturally after all the time he'd spent among royalty.

'My King, I'm so sorry. It's my fault entirely. I wasn't clear enough.'

'It is not your fault,' said the King, 'nor do I wish to imply such. You needn't worry.' Immediately Jarvan noted a change in the man. His expression lost all tension as he replied,

'Thank-you Sire… Then may I ask why you summoned me?'

'I just wish to get the facts straight about all this. It is-' Jarvan scoffed,

'- Oh please! There is nothing _to_ get straight. It is as clear as a Noxian is two-faced and despicable. And that's exactly what we are dealing with here. Noxians. Since when do we let those curs drive people around us to suicide?'

'Son,' King Jarvan replied, 'you will have your turn to speak.'

'But-'

'- We must be civil about this.' An uneasy silence filled the room, with the King grasping at his temples. And Jarvan held his tongue, as much as it hurt him to do so.

'So…' The King began when he seemed satisfied with the calm the hush had caused, 'Seneschal, what exactly did you say to my son?'

'Well, I told him what we discussed. That he should not make any sort of comments… I told him it was your will.' The King's gaze turned towards Jarvan,

'And you said no?'

'I only did what was right.' His father's voice rose slightly,

'That's not what I asked.' And Jarvan matched his volume,

'I speak for the Demacian people.'

'And I am King of the Demacian people.'

'And you've lost your touch, Father.' Jarvan pointed at the Seneschal, who didn't seem like he wanted to breathe, 'You listen to a servant before your own son. Why? Shouldn't it be me that you consult with and not the help?'

'Son-'

'- And since when has he afforded the right to pitch his suggestions?'

'You are being _very_ disre_-'_

'- Answer my questions Father!'

'What type of void spawn has possessed you?!' The roar of his father's voice was enough to knock him into a daze. And the man had plenty to say, 'Have you forgotten every bit of etiquette that you know? Just because you are my son does not mean that cutting me off is going to get you anywhere. And this is not about you being my son. Such a trivial detail matters not to me. This is about you being a member of the Royal Court, just as I am and just as Xin Zhao has been for the longest time. In that regard you are equals, and at this moment the Seneschal is not running his mouth like a wild stallion. So pardon me if I listen to him before you.' He stopped only to grasp at his head once more and let out a cleansing sigh.

'So if you would control yourself for just a moment,' He continued, 'answer me this: Why did you disobey a direct order from your King?'

'Equals…' Jarvan echoed, consciously ignoring his father's question, 'He is _my_ equal?' He turned to the Seneschal, 'Do you feel as if you are my equal?'

'I'm in no position to answer that, my Prince.' The way he responded so promptly only served to irritate him further,

'The answer is no. You are not my equal. I don't even know how you came to serve here.'

'Your Grandfather-'

'-I know that much! But what is it that you did to gain your employment?' The Seneschal averted his eyes and Jarvan took a step closer, 'It doesn't matter… But I see you carrying around your spear as if you know how to use it. And I will admit, your performances on the Fields of Justice are passable. Though it's still beyond me why a person like you is in the League of Legends and I am not.'

'That… that is not my fault, my Prince. I'm sure if you put in an application they'd accept you very promptly.'

'I could easily join the League if I wanted. I'm sure of that. Still, the League is no replacement for real combat… Have you ever fought in a war Seneschal?'

'I-'

'- I have. I fought long and hard for the people of Demacia. I almost got executed for them. Can you say the same?' The man was silent, his stare screaming confliction. Such a strained expression looked so foreign on his face, but it didn't concern Jarvan in the slightest.

'I could not answer that question without causing you disrespect… My Prince. ' He finally said, a subtle growl accenting his tone.

'The only thing that's causing me disrespect is your complete lack of courage. The League is all magic and mirrors anyway. I'd like to see you handle yourself in a real fight.' Immediately the servants head shot up with a scowl,

'I don't think you know what you're talking about.'

'Oh, are you calling your future King a fool?'

'That's not what I meant, and you know it.'

'Then what do you mean? Such a gutless man like you wouldn't last a second in a real battle. You will never know what it's like. The only vaguely brave thing you'll ever do is venture down into the kitchens and cook me dinner. I bet-'

'- _My King._' The Seneschal said urgently. He flicked his hair over his shoulder with an angry force, his stare shooting towards the King, 'Do I have your permission to speak freely?' His glare was back upon Jarvan, 'There is some things I wish to say to the Prince with an unchecked voice.' To Jarvan's surprise, a slight chuckle escaped his father,

'You have my permission, and then some Seneschal. Say what you need to say. I'll block my ears if I have to.'

Xin Zhao took a deep breath and then, with a voice he didn't know the man had, said some things he never thought he'd hear,

'Prince Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth. I can handle most of your criticism, as offensive as it may be. After all, it's my job to serve you until the day I die... However, I cannot and will not tolerate you calling me a coward. Yes, Prince Jarvan, I have fought in a war. And no, you have not. You may have fought for this country, but not in a war.'

'Excuse me?'

'By the time you were old enough to hold a sword the war was over. If you call border skirmishes a war then what I saw was a nightmare. I saw the Noxian war machine at its height.' Raw emotion shattered the man's voice then, whether it was a bitter sadness or anger, the Prince couldn't be sure, 'I stood alongside your grandfather and watched as their evil runes wiped out whole battalions. I stood on the front lines and took blows for that man, and I can't even count the number of times I could've died out there! But it was seeing my comrades die that hurt me more than any Noxian axe…'

It was sadness, Jarvan then realised. The look in his eyes couldn't be described as anything else, 'Because when… when you look down at yourself and see the blues and whites of your armour discoloured by the blood of the dying, you know that the Rune Wars… all of the Rune Wars… were worthless.' Xin Zhao lurched forward and spoke in a mumble, 'So don't you _dare_ say I'm a coward. To say I am anything less than Demacian is a grave insult to me.'

Jarvan was stunned. His anger had left him for surprised. He had no idea the Seneschal had done so much…

'Now do you see why I consult with him?' He felt his father's hand rest upon his shoulder, but he didn't turn to acknowledge his presence. He couldn't seem to pull his gaze away from the Seneschal, 'You'd do well to show him, and everyone, some respect. And I know your intentions are good, but I cannot let something like what you've done go unpunished.' The man walked into his view, gave the Seneschal a knowing nod, and opened the door,

'But first, I feel as if you have some things you want to think about, so leave now and we'll discuss this when your mind is sound.'

He left his father then, his brain still whirling from being addressed in such a fashion by a man he considered no more than a servant. And of course it made sense, now that he wasn't blinded by rage. He could just see the man following his father into battle in much the same way he followed him throughout the castle.

The voice of the King broke his chain of thought,

_'I don't think I've ever seen you so angry, Seneschal.'_

'_I'm very sorry. I just felt the need to say it all. Was I too hard on him?'_

Jarvan leaned against the door and listened to the conversation unfolding within,

'Not at all,' His father replied, 'I knew exactly what you were going to say. And it needed to be said. If you hadn't taken the initiative, then I would've. You don't deserve to be addressed in such a fashion.'

'He's just emotional. He doesn't talk to me like that every day…' An awkward pause took the room before his father spoke once more,

'… Seneschal? Is something else on your mind?'

'Oh… nothing. It's just that… Well… He is so much like your father. It unsettles me a bit sometimes.' A laugh escaped the man, 'I almost wanted to keep my mouth shut because of it.'

_So much like my grandfather?_

His father seemed to project exactly what he was thinking,

'Like father? How so?'

'I don't know. The way he walks. The way he talks... Sometimes even that angry timbre when he addresses me… He has a fire in his soul that no man can put out. It would take a whole army to budge his morals… Just like your father.'

'I think that's more to do with his self-righteousness. I will have to remedy it at some point to prevent something like this from happening again. He can be such a child sometimes.'

'He is not as childish as you think, my King. He's young, and maybe a bit over zealous, but not childish. He'll do good by us all when his time comes to be King.'

'I'm glad to hear you think so… But what of Ionia? What must we do now?'

'I am no King, Sire. And I don't think I'm in any state to think about such things.'

'I concur. My head is splitting. I think I'll need to retire for the rest of the day.'

'Sorry to hear that. I feel… partially responsible…'

'Seneschal, Seneschal, Seneschal. Whatever shall I do with you? If it makes you feel any better, this whole debacle was entirely your fault. One-hundred and one percent.' The hardy thud of a hand on a shoulder sounded, followed by some laughter, 'Now take your leave. I'll send for you when…' Jarvan didn't wish to stick around any longer and have the men find out he was eavesdropping, so he made his way up the hall with a contained urgency. He had reacted too late,

'Prince Jarvan?'

'Oh… uh… Hello Seneschal. I was just… um…'

'… Listening I assume?'

'Well…' He sighed, 'I suppose I was. I am…' He had to formulate the word in his mind before his lips could speak it, '…Sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you…'

'Don't worry about it... And it's probably better you heard all that anyway.' He turned to the man and saw a smile on his face, not something he was expecting after the scolding he'd just received,

'Why is that?'

'Because it's the truth. You may not hold me in the highest regard, but know that I respect you, no matter how you feel about my existence within these walls... And your Grandfather, if he was still with us, would've stood right next to you as you spoke today. I'm sure of it. Don't tell your father I said that though.' He didn't reply, any words he could possibly use escaping him. The man said one more thing before he bowed and walked down the hall,

'Demacia: Now and Forever.'

Jarvan had a lot to think about for the rest of that day. But he knew one thing. He wouldn't be catching a boat to Ionia any time soon. Not just because he had decided not to, but because his father barred any ships from sailing to the City-State the very next day.

And his punishment for his defiance? His father had been extra careful in choosing it. Because of it, Jarvan got himself well acquainted with rags, oil and wax. And the point of Xin Zhao's spear. Yes, his father had decreed, with plenty of protest from the Seneschal, that the Prince must clean his deadly weapon for as long as it took to "ground his mind in reality and teach him some respect."

He was oddly content with the turn of events though. He made sure to do the job to the highest degree possible. To the standards of Demacian royalty. And although Garen would poke fun at him about it, he saw no humour in the affair. For it gave him a chance to properly, and humbly, talk to the man he regarded as Seneschal, and he learnt a lot about the history of his great country. But he learnt nothing about the man whose spear he meticulously examined. Xin Zhao was very tight-lipped on that subject.

But it didn't matter. The man's past wasn't of concern to him. It was the present that weighed heavily on his mind. The plight of the Ionians was a saddening thought, and he so desperately wanted to help. But his emotional speech did not have the effect that his father had originally thought. In fact, it seemed to had done nothing to sway political progress.

And Jarvan couldn't have been happier with the way things turned out.

* * *

**A/N: "Polishing my spear" jokes are expected and completely acceptable.**


End file.
